"It's awful to think they're out there somewhere." She looked past him to the darkened streets, looking for faces in the shadows as he'd seen her do so many nights when he'd walked invisibly at her side. "I never know. I don't remember some of their faces … I was drugged when they … you know."

"Raped," he said gently. "And yes, I know exactly."

Her hand traced over one of his scars again, more hesitantly this time. The stunned look on her face confirmed that she understood. "You?"

He nodded. "It was forever ago."

Her eyes welled with tears. "Does it ever go away? The panic?"

And she looked at him with such hope he wished that fey could lie. He couldn't. He said, "It gets better. Some days, some years, it's almost gone."

"That's something, right?"

"It's almost everything some days." He kissed her gently, just a brush of lips, not seeking passion but offering comfort. "And sometimes you meet someone who doesn't see you any differently if you tell them. That is everything."

Silently she rested her face against his chest, and he held her and admitted the truth to himself: For this mortal I would disobey my queen, abandon my king, the court that has protected me all these years. All of it. If he took her into his arms, he would keep her. He wouldn't let her suffer the way the other mortals had when he'd left them. He would keep her, with his court's permission or without it. Irial wouldn't take her, and Keenan wouldn't stand between them.

Chapter 19

Leslie woke in the middle of the night to see Niall lying next to her, feverish, his skin damp with a sheen of sweat. He wasn't thrashing; he was perfectly still. His chest didn't appear to be moving at all.

She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Niall?"

He blinked at her, but it didn't take long for him to sit upright and look around. "Are you injured? Is someone here?"

"No." The skin under her hand was hot to the touch, far hotter than seemed possible. "You're sick, Niall. Stay here."

She went to the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel. After soaking it with cold water, she came back. Niall had closed his eyes and was lying back on Seth's enormous bed. If he hadn't looked like he was near passing out, it would have been a lovely sight to see. She knelt on the bed and wiped his face and chest with the icy cloth. He didn't react at all. His eyes stayed closed. His heartbeat thudded rapidly enough that she could see the pulse in his throat.

"Do you think you can walk to the front room? I can call a taxi," she murmured, glancing around the room to find her cell phone.

"Taxi to go where?"

"To the hospital." The wet cloth was already warm to the touch, and his body wasn't any cooler.

"No. We're not going there. Stay here or go to the loft." He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was no mistaking that look for anything remotely reasonable.

She sighed but kept her voice gentle as she said, "Sweetie, you're sick. Do you know what's wrong?"

"Allergic."

"To what? Do you have one of those pens for a shot?" She picked up his shirt from the floor and looked in the front pocket. There wasn't anything. She dropped it. Where else? There was nothing on the bedside tables. She reached down and felt inside the pockets of his jeans—which were still on him.

Niall grabbed her hand. "I did not bring you here to have sex, and I feel far from well enough to do so, but" — he pulled her forward until she was sprawled on his chest— "that doesn't mean I'm immune to your touch."

Using one hand on the wall to steady himself, he stood. "Help me get outside. I need air. Clear my head before I say something I can't."

"Something you can’t?" She came to stand beside him, though, offering him her support. He draped an arm over her shoulders; she put her arm around his waist.

Mostly talking to herself, Leslie said, "Seth. Ash. Everyone's keeping secrets." She looked up at Niall. "I ought to keep asking you questions until I get a few answers out of somebody."

She concentrated on getting him through the train and to the door. He hissed when he reached a hand out and brushed the door. They both stumbled when he recoiled.

"Are you okay?"

"No," he said. "Not so much. But I will be."

Not knowing what to say or do, Leslie looked around. She saw one of Seth's wooden chairs. "Come on," she said.

Niall leaned heavily on her as she dragged the chair far away from the train into the shadows of the yard. It was awkward, but she had plenty of practice maneuvering her drunken father into his room. Niall sat in the chair. She had just stepped away from him when Keenan appeared. He seemed to materialize out of the shadowed lot. He hadn't been anywhere in sight, and then suddenly he was in front of them—and angry.

"What were you thinking?" Keenan asked.

Niall didn't reply.

Leslie tensed, feeling an urge to run when he approached. She wasn't sure where he'd come from or why he was here. She couldn't wonder how he'd arrived so unexpectedly or why she felt so disquieted by his presence. All she knew was that he frightened her and she wanted him gone.

"I didn't know he had an allergy to" — Leslie glanced at Niall—"what are you allergic to?"

"Iron. Steel. He's allergic to iron and steel. We all are." Keenan scowled. "This serves no purpose, Niall."